


Fallen Angels

by HaloMaiden



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: ANGSTY ANGST ANGST, AU, Boromir Lives, F/M, Fixing things, Gen, M/M, More Faramir love!, Tenth Walker, Time traveller, Why am I doing this to myself?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:59:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaloMaiden/pseuds/HaloMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time traveller!Faramir. In his last days the youngest son of Denethor discovers things he never knew about his brother. Faramir wishes more than ever to save his brother’s life and finds that his wish has been granted. But at what cost?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> The plot bunny has struck again and this time I am undertaking a MASSIVE project. Apologies to those of you who were reading 'Gifted' , I had to put it on hiatus for the time being. Hopefully this story makes up for it. Any thoughts are welcomed! ^^
> 
> On to today's viewing!

_Chapter One_

The white city of Minas Tirith stood proud and mighty, protecting its people with its majesty and solid walls. As always the reigning line of the royalty held fast as the keeper of mankind’s strength and willpower to outlast and out-best evil. In the mid-morning of a cool February that a young healer hurried through the castle corridors and burst through the doors into the drawing room of the King’s hall, bowing deeply to the King in question and the following words burst forth as though she could not hold them in any longer.

“My King!” she cried breathlessly. “My King, the Lord Faramir he is . . . his condition is not good my liege, my mistress fears that it will not be long now, a few days at the most”

King Elessar, dark haired and regal in his height, turned from his desk and letting the documents fall from his slackened grip as he stared down the young woman. “So” he said sadly. “Has it really come to this?” he asked.

“Yes, I am afraid so my King”

Together they hurried towards the healing wards and just before they were about to burst into the healing chambers the young nurse reached out and grasped the upper arm of her king, jerking him to an abrupt halt. Elessar stared at her, brows furrowed deeply and confusion written plainly across his face.

“What is it?” he begged. “Healer, speak. What is it that plagues your mind?”

The young woman looked down at her feet and shuffled about restlessly, seemingly unable to speak the words that were on her mind. Elessar drew himself to his full height, fixing the young healer with an understanding gaze. For someone so young he knew how difficulty this would be to watch someone as kind hearted as the Lord Faramir die slowly and painfully as he had been doing for the last three months.

_It had been a confronting combination of grief, illness and old age_ , Elessar reflected.

“There is something on his mind my King” the healer whispered, looking up at him with wet eyes.

Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her body, fingers twisted deeply into the fabric of her apron and a single strand of dark brown hair had escaped her healer’s cap and was dangling in front of her eyes. Elessar sighed. Faramir had charmed another, yet again, without even realising it.

“He speaks of his brother often” the woman continued softly. “He dwells constantly on the fate of his beloved sibling and whether.  . .”

Elessar reached out and gripped her shoulder in comfort. It was easier for her to end that statement in silence then to continue on. The healer took a great shuddering breath and stammered her exit before hurrying away to cry in peace and quiet in a secluded closet or abandoned room nearby. Elessar drew in a sad gust of air and reached up to massage the bridge of his nose.

This was certainly not the first person he had farewelled in recent times. Éomer had passed in battle years ago, slain by a gang of orcs who had been too cowardly to face him one on one. Soon after his sister, the always kind hearted Éowyn also passed on – much to the despair of her late husband.

Elessar knew that due to his lineage he was doomed to watch those around him pass on before his time. It certainly did not make enduring it any easier. Gandalf and Frodo had departed Middle Earth decades ago now. Certainly now, besides Legolas and Gimli, he was the last remaining relic of the broken Fellowship. 

He bit down on his tongue harshly, wishing now more than ever that Arwen was with him in this moment. His beautiful wife always had a way of comforting him at times of deep sorrow. But since she and their son, Eldarion, had travelled to Ithilien to meet with Elboron regarding matters of the city. He entered the healing chambers, hands tucked tightly behind his back to hide the shaking of said limbs.

There was a single bed by the window, bathed in golden light of the rising sun and covered by a single white sheet, lay Faramir, second son of Denethor. His blonde curled hair was now streaked with the grey of age and the lines that marred his face were both due to age and the cruelty of battle. At the sound of Elessar’s approaching footsteps he looked over and dried to pry himself upwards into a sitting position.

“My King” Faramir groaned. “My apologies for my somewhat dishevelled appearance, I find myself slightly lacking in energy at this point in time”

Elessar chuckled, drawing a chair and settling himself at his old friend’s bedside. “My old friend since when have you ever had to call me king?” he asked dryly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “You have been unwell for a long time, friend, I hardly expected a banquet in my welcome”

“Still . . .” Faramir sighed, leaning back into the pillows with a long suffering gust of breath. “I am tired Aragorn, so very tired”

The King of Gondor chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip, drawing blood easily from the cracked skin. The burning in his inner pocket returned with such intensity that he could not ignore it. For the last few decades he had successfully ignored it, filing it away with all other general knowledge but for the last few weeks it had been a source of guilt and pain. Elessar reached up and scrubbed his hand over his chin, a weeks’ worth of stubble itching his fingertips.

“The healers tell me you have been speaking of Boromir” Elessar said carefully. “It has been a few years since you have mentioned his name my friend”

Faramir inhaled deeply, the action itself seemed painful and drawn out to Elessar who itched to reach out and comfort his old advisor. He did not, however, he knew Faramir too well by now to know when and when not to comfort the old warrior. Faramir did not ever, nor would he ever, appreciate pity.

“He has been on my mind of late it is true” Faramir admitted. His lined hands gripped at the white sheet, drawing it into tight bunches within his fist. “I often wonder about him, how things would have been if he had . . . if he had made it. Would he have liked Eowyn? Would he have stayed around to teach my son swordsmanship? Questions without answers my King, are the worst kind”

“It does not do to dwell in the past Faramir” Elessar reminded him.

“Of course not, I am well aware of this fact”

Silence loomed between them momentarily and Faramir turned his head on the pillow to stare down Elessar, his blue eyes wide with a realisation that something was clearly not right. It was as though Faramir was staring into the depths of Elessar’s soul, seeing the truth that he had been hiding even though Elessar knew that the retired Steward of Gondor had no clue of the secret he held deep within his soul.

“Something is troubling you my king” Faramir stated bluntly, despite the strain in his voice.

“As always old friend you have a perception skill that is beyond your years” Elessar chuckled warmly, reaching out to grip Faramir’s hand in his own. “I have something to tell you my friend”

“The healers say I have only a few days – it would be wise to make it quick my liege”

Elessar nodded sharply and reached inside his tunic, feeling around in the inner pocket and removing his hand to reveal a faded leather journal. Despite the yellowed edges that showed the age of this book Elessar could not help but notice that it looked exactly the same as it had all those years ago during the War.

It seemed he was not the only one who was drawn to it for Faramir had raised himself from the bed once more, this time with the ease of a younger man in his prime rather than a dying man on his last breath. His blue eyes were wide and staring, transfixed, at the journal. Elessar sighed once more.

“It belonged to your brother” he admitted quietly, not quite willing to admit that his voice wanted to shake with the loss of a man he called friend. “Boromir kept this journal from the moment we departed Rivendell up until he died. I took it from his body so that his tale would not be forgotten to me”

Faramir mouthed silently before he managed to croak out the words he longed to say. “My brother. . .” he breathed. “He  . . . this was his?”

“It still is” Elessar corrected. “And now I pass it to you Faramir, as I should have done upon our first meeting”

The golden haired man reached out a shaking hand and accepted the journal, clasping it close to his chest as though it was the only thing keeping his emotions in check. Perhaps that was true for both of them, Elessar realised as he felt his own throat tighten as he released the only remaining memory of Boromir. He missed his friend more than he ever thought possible.

He could only watch as Faramir flipped open the journal, hands shiny with sweat, and raised the handwritten scrawl of his brother’s hand to his eye level.

“ _My dear brother_ ” Faramir read aloud, his voice wavering as he did so. “ _There are times in our lives that we all must undertake tasks we do not want. This is one of those times. Despite what Father believes I have found myself wondering whether bringing to Ring of Power to Gondor will really solve our problems. Yet . . . I am drawn to it”_

“Faramir . . .”

“I knew it” the man breathed contently. “I knew that my brother could not have always acted on insanity that would later plague him and ultimately end his life. He saw the sense where our Father could not”

“Your father was doing the best he could I am sure” Elessar lied, raising placating hands to console his friend. “Living in a time of war such as he did was not easy”

_Not that I agree with how poorly he treated the boys that were his sons,_ he thought bitingly.

“Do not attempt to lie to yourself my King” Faramir choked out. “It does not suit you. My father was sick and buried under layers of despair but there is no doubt he favoured Boromir. For good reason perhaps. My brother died a noblemen’s death. And here I lie, having outlived my wife and one of my greatest friends, dying as an old man”

Elessar reached out and gripped Faramir’s upper arm in a tight grip. “My friend, do not downgrade yourself. Do not let yourself be blinded at the end of your life by your father’s madness” he implored.

Faramir smiled weakly, letting the journal fall shut and reached up to grip his King’s hand. “As always my friend you have a way of bringing positivity to all those that are lucky enough to be in your company” he said warmly, reaching up with his free hand to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Are you feeling ill again?” Elessar asked urgently.

“There is rarely been a day that has passed in the last year when I have _not_ felt ill” Faramir admitted. He yawned widely, leaning back into the pillows with a hacking cough. The handkerchief he’d been using to mop his brow he used to now to dry his mouth, a bright red stain across its surface when Elessar could see it next. “My apologies you had to see that Aragorn” he said next. “Éowyn would have said that showing weakness is a great strength in the world of men”

“She had a way with words your beloved” Elessar chuckled.

Faramir smiled widely, lost away in his memories of the woman he had loved and lost. Elessar watched as his friend drifted into sleep. He would always maintain that in the end Éowyn was perfect for Faramir and he was perfect for her, to the very end.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his train of thought and Elessar got up quickly, exiting the healing chambers and coming face to face with his son. They embraced warmly for a moment before Arwen arrived, placing a comforting hand at his elbow.

“How is he?” Arwen asked.

“He is weary and quite ill” Elessar informed them. “Where is Elboron? He should be here with him”

“Entertaining your guest” Eldarion announced, tucking his hands into the belt loops of his tunic and laying his hand across the hilt of his blade. When his father gave him a questioning glance he shrugged. “He sent me to retrieve you so that you may entertain so that he can sit with Lord Faramir”

“Very well then” Elessar said, inclining his head.

“He also asked that you were there too Mother” Eldarion continued, nodding at Arwen.

“We’ll go now, can you watch over Faramir until Elboron arrives?” Arwen asked sweetly. When he nodded she cupped his face. “I know it is difficult but now, more than ever, Elboron needs your strength so that he can weather the loss of his father”

“He was almost broken when Éowyn died” Elessar agreed.

Eldarion raised his eyebrows at them. “He is my best friend; I promised long ago that I would watch over him and ensure he was safe”

_Never mind the fact that he is now the Steward of Gondor,_ Elessar thought with a small smile. “I am proud of you son” he said gruffly, clapping him on the shoulder. “Please excuse us”

He tried to ignore the exasperated look that Arwen was pinning him with. Elessar was sure that come tonight, in their chambers, he would be in for it for not informing his beautiful wife that Faramir had taken a turn for worse. From the moment that Arwen had been appointed Queen of Gondor she had taken upon herself to include Faramir and Éowyn in their odd little family.

She had been ever more determined when Elessar had caved and told her what he knew of Faramir’s life and Éowyn’s struggles with Grima. Elessar could only shudder in the memory of the rant she had unleashed as she paced in their bedroom that night.

They reached the double doors that led to the throne room and Arwen reached out, staying her hand with his own. She looked at him seriously.

“Whoever is behind these doors you have to know nothing will stop Faramir’s death. Not even that secret you’ve carried around with you for the last few decades” Arwen told him. “Please my love; we want him to pass on peacefully not burdened by memories of the brother he lost long before he was wed”

“What are you talking about my star?” Elessar asked. “I only gave him the journal that I should have given him when I was first crowned, it is his right”

“I am not talking about the journal. In fact I’m relieved that you finally got rid of it” Arwen said sharply. “Just . . . just wait and see” she continued, leaning forward and pushing the door open.

Elessar strode into the room and then his eyes widened as he took in the broad back and long blonde hair that was braided intricately with a length of silver twine. Built like a willow and floating on air Legolas Greenleaf turned to face Elessar and smiled brightly at him.

. . .

Though he could feel fatigue looming over him once more Faramir slowly opened his eyes and looked down the bed to where he still clasped his late brother’s journal in one hand. There was a curiosity burning within his body, he yearned to read beyond the first page of the journal. This was all that was left of Boromir – everything else was just memories. So why could he not bring himself to open it and peruse the pages as he so desired?

_It’s because you know there will be an end,_ a nasty voice reminded him internally.

Faramir groaned and rubbed at his eyes, staving off the exhaustion that was determined to pull him into slumber once more. Faking sleep to Elessar had been easy, part of him wondered whether the King had actually cottoned on to the fact that he wished to be alone with his brother’s words. He was strikingly intelligent when it suited him as Éowyn would like to say.

His hands shaking and with sweat beaded across his forehead Faramir drew the journal up once more and opened it, flicking to the first page and began to read.

_My dear brother;_

_There are times in our lives that we all must undertake tasks we do not want. This is one of those times. Despite what Father believes I have found myself wondering whether bringing to Ring of Power to Gondor will really solve our problems. Yet . . . I am drawn to it._

Boromir’s handwriting had always been atrocious, Faramir reminded himself with a dry chuckle. He delved further.

_The road to Rivendell is long and difficult, yet my dear brother I cannot help but feel a little excited. It has been years since I have seen elves and I hope to perhaps have a conversation with one. If I do I shall document it to show you upon my return. The travellers I have met on the path say Lord Elrond is one of the wisest and greatest elves of the age. You would know his name better oh little brother, you always were the scholar._

Faramir settled himself back into the pillows and turned the page as delicately as he could, not wishing to even mark a page of this journal. The next entry was written marginally neater and he supposed that it was because Boromir had arrived in Rivendell and now had a desk upon which to pen his entry.

_The Shards of Narsil. Oh brother they are as glorious as the stories foretold they were. The blade is as sharp as the day it was forged. I met a strange man there, he was no elf and he had the look of a Ranger about him. It is odd to see a Ranger in these parts, elves do not welcome guests so readily as you have told me time and again._

_. . ._

_The Ring of Power – the stories were true. Father was right. The Ring of Power has been found by none other than a creature they call a ‘hobbit’. They are tiny Faramir, with large hairy feet and more curls than three Gondorian maidens. I could feel the Ring’s power. It truly is the One Ring. All I can hear are Father’s words, begging me to bring him this gift. The boon of the Ring would save Gondor he says. To be honest my dear Faramir I am starting to wonder the same thing._

Faramir shook his head emphatically. The madness was slowly beginning to creep into his brother’s words; the penmanship growing more hurried as though Boromir was writing in a great frenzy so that he could get all the words out. He had known what Boromir had done; both Elessar and Frodo had given their account of the story, the latter in more detail.

Seeing his brother’s madness upon this page was harder than Faramir would have ever dreamed.

_I ran into that elf. The one at the council. Legolas, I believe he was named. He acts as though he is the greatest boon that has been delivered from the heavens. Faramir, how this elf frustrates me! He sought me out and demanded that while on the journey I must respect this ranger, Aragorn. It seems he is Isildur’s heir. I did not dream it to be so brother; I had hoped that the last of that weakened line had died out._

_Legolas had the gall to threaten me! A petite elf threatening the next Steward of Gondor! How dare he! I shall show him! Brother you needn’t roll your eyes at me; it is unbefitting of someone of our status. I am aware you think my actions childish but I cannot help it. He works his way under my skin with that smirk of his and his perfection. There is nothing wrong with perfection, unless the person knows it._

Faramir drew his brows inwards. He had no idea that Boromir and Legolas hadn’t gotten along. All of Elessar’s stories about his brother, aside from the madness of the Ring, none had spoken ill of his brother. Had they not wished to tarnish his memory? But as he read more and more he could not believe the sheer animosity that had existed between his brother and the elf that Faramir himself called friend.

Things got steadily more complicated as he reached the end of the journal.

_It seems it was inevitable. All the arguing, the glares and smirks had to lead to one road or the other. Though I do not find myself complaining about this. Perhaps it is something in the water here in the woods. I can feel the stars staring down at me, whispering to me. He came to me Faramir. Legolas. He bade me to come with him and led me to a soft pool of water._

_There he bathed the cuts I had received when we had fought our way out of Moria and neither of us could speak. I know not if it was the grief of losing Gandalf or something much deeper but the next thing I knew he had kissed me. Valar help me Faramir I kissed him back. The animosity within me against this elf has gone now. Perhaps this kiss helped me. I am filled only with tenderness and concern for this elf, this being that has tested me so often._

_Afterwards, I do not know how long we were together for, he held me tightly and begged me to be careful. He also warned me to not lose sight. Whatever that might mean. Despite his warm body beside mine as I fall asleep here I cannot help but think of the Ring. We need it._

That was the last entry. Faramir flipped many of the pages after it but only found a dark stain marring the pages beyond. Boromir’s blood. He had died before he could explain himself further Faramir realised, horrified and shocked to his very core.  Boromir had not had many romantic relationships before his death. All of his encounters had been brief dalliances to warm his bed, this Faramir knew well.

Boromir had not been one to believe in love. Oh he knew it existed for he had known how much Denethor loved their mother, the late Finduilas. But it had been Faramir who claimed the romantic side of the family. Boromir had not been one to believe in such tales. Could he have loved Legolas?

Faramir descended into sleep with these questions bouncing around his mind, concerned very much for the first time in a decade that perhaps he had not really known Boromir at all.

. . .

An odd fatigue had settled over Faramir when next he woke. It was growing steadily more difficult to wake up and face the morning, or afternoon as it now was. The sun was beginning to kiss the horizon and he yawned, his joints aching and complaining as he shifted restlessly. So many questions and no answers. It disturbed his peace. He had no slept well at all for he felt even more tired than he had when he drifted off.

A cool cloth settled on his brow and Faramir turned his head. His eyes widened when he came nearly nose to nose with none other than Legolas, elf of Mirkwood. The blonde tipped his head, concern flashing over his delicate features and his movements halting.

“Is everything alright Faramir?” Legolas asked softly. “You look as though you have aged a decade before my gaze”

“You . . . you’re here?” Faramir managed.

“Of course. My trip came to its inevitable end and when I received word of your illness I could not stand by and let you leave this world without farewell” Legolas said simply. “I made a promise to a dying man to keep you safe. Thus far I have succeeded. It seems that this is out of my hands”

“Few things can cure a disease of the blood”

“Indeed”

A silence fell between them, Faramir struggling within himself to find the words he so desperately wanted to put before the elf. Legolas seemed unaware of his turmoil, content to mop his brow with the cloth and hum a strange music beneath his breath.

“Elessar told me that you have read Boromir’s writing” Legolas said suddenly. “Did you learn something in the pages that unsettles you my friend?”

“You kissed him” Faramir spluttered. “It was quite clear by the end of my readings that you loved him! You said naught of this to me, his brother! I ought to have been told, why could you not have shared this with me yourself?”

“Of course I loved him. He was easy to love Faramir. It was difficult, I think, to understand him”

“Are they not the same thing?”

Legolas chuckled softly. “Of course not. Boromir and I are of two different races. Our circumstances were vastly different to Elessar and Arwen’s, you must understand this. Elessar lived the majority of his life amongst my kin, he knew our ways. Boromir did not”

“But still . . .”

“Yes. Even despite his infuriating ego I loved him” Legolas admitted. He suddenly seemed to be the weary one, as though time had aged him beneath the surface. Emotional pain was perhaps taking its toll on the elf. “I am only lucky that I was given the strength to continue on without him” Legolas added. “I refused to give in just because I had lost him”

“You still should have spoken to me” Faramir insisted.

“What good would that have accomplished? Only more pain and suffering. Talking about him then was difficult for me. I was young and foolish back then, I thought I could carry on as though I had not suffered. Not a soul was aware of Boromir and I. Not even Elessar”

“And now?” Faramir asked.

Legolas’ eyebrows rose and he sat back in his chair, fixing a considering gaze on Faramir. “I suppose now I have accepted his death it is now easier. I still mourn his absence. However one could say that I am ‘adjusted’ as you men say”

“There is so much I feel like I have missed out on” Faramir admitted. “I don’t think I ever truly knew my brother. Reading that  . . . that book only proved as much”

The elf was silent for a moment before he reached over to the side table and placed the cloth down. Then he was leaning back into Faramir’s space, a serious look etched deep onto the permanent youthful features he possessed. Faramir bit his tongue in discomfort. What was the elf doing?

“If I could show you what I remember of our brief time together would this appease you?” Legolas asked seriously.

“I . . .”

“Would you be willing to start letting go if I showed you the truth?” the elf continued harshly. His eyes had turned as cold as hard gemstones and despite their beauty Faramir found himself feeling slightly wary of this odd change in behaviour.

“Yes” he said finally. “I would”

“Steady yourself” Legolas said. “We are about to learn some truths”

And then he reached out and with long spidery fingers, pressed his palm against Faramir’s brow. The world exploded into colour and flashing lights, Faramir calling out his brother’s name as he fell.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Faramir was floating, suspended above the clouds. His eyes drifted open at the muffled sound of voices. All about him he could see lush green life and winding paths, a few golden archways nearby. He had no memory of this place but somehow it seemed familiar. It was certainly a home to elves, this he knew by the structure of the buildings. Was this . . was this Rivendell?

The voices were drawing closer and Faramir felt his jaw drop as he saw Boromir, his beloved brother, round the corner. He was scowling ferociously and his entire being was vibrating with tension. Close behind him was none other than Legolas Greenleaf. The elf, still as lithe and young as Faramir had last seen him, was also looking angry but there was a hint of smug superiority that laced its way through his beautiful features.

“Why do you follow me elf?!” Boromir snarled suddenly, turning on his heel and shoving his face into Legolas’. “Do you derive some enjoyment from my company because to be frank I find your presence to be very irritating”

“Do not flatter yourself” Legolas scoffed. He crossed his arms and smirked at Boromir, almost preening himself from what Faramir could see. “I am merely following your steps so that we may talk in private. Rest assured I find no pleasure in company such as yours, fine a standard as it is Gondorian”

Even from so far away Faramir could sense the hostility and the sarcasm that ran through the elf’s voice. It was strange seeing Legolas so cold and confronting. The elf had been right after all. He was young back in these days. It had to be before the time of peace, just before the Fellowship departed on their journey.

“Speak then” Boromir said.

“Remember my words son of Gondor; do not stand between Aragorn and his right to rule. He is Isildur’s heir. You have no authority to deny his birth right” Legolas said clearly. An eyebrow rose, as though he was challenging Boromir. “I will not let you stand in the way of what Aragorn rightfully deserves”

“If he was truly our king why would he not have returned to Gondor, his home?” Boromir snarled. “Instead he chooses to spend his days within elven walls, barricading himself away like the coward he and the rest of his line are”

“You know very well that had he returned to Gondor your father would have killed him” Legolas said coolly. “Do not attempt to deny it; I have heard the whispers of Denethor’s madness. Tell me, when did he start treating you like a soldier before a son? Or is he so disillusioned that he has already forgotten your face?”

Faramir anticipated the strike that Boromir launched at the elf mere seconds before it happened. His brother’s fist came careening towards the slender being, just as Legolas jumped clear, performed a complex manoeuvre and jammed his heel into Boromir’s chest. The man fell to the floor and ended up with Legolas sitting on his chest with the blade of his knife pressed firmly against his neck.

“Get off me elf!” Boromir snarled. He tried to wedge himself out from under Legolas but it was clear that elf’s strength was keeping him firmly pinned. “Get off or so help me I’ll gut you here and now”

“It seems a little difficult for you to achieve that feat at present time since I currently have you trapped” Legolas suggested. He tossed a smirk at the man beneath his body and still did not remove the blade. “Now that you are more agreeable I should hope that you take my advice and do not stand between Aragorn and his . . .”

“I’d sooner die then let that smug coward take the throne!” Boromir snarled.

“I said” Legolas hissed icily, applying more pressure to his blade. “You will _not_ get in the way of Aragorn or I shall be forced to take his side as I always will”

Boromir gave a growl and managed to shift out from under him, scrambling backwards as his hand flew to the hilt of his sword. The look upon his face was impossibly dark, Faramir mentally staggered at the hatred on his brother’s face.

“Like a loyal dog” Boromir growled. “You two will be _very_ happy together”

Colours swirled and the memory drifted away. Faramir let the soft voices lull him forwards, he closed his eyes and let himself feel. He was trying to understand what was happening here. It was quite clear that Legolas and Boromir hated each other. How had they come to supposedly care for one another when there was so much blatant hostility between them?

_Listen,_ a voice echoed. It was familiar but Faramir could not put a name to who it might be. _Let yourself be shown the tale._

Faramir could only nod and when he opened his eyes once more he was standing beside Legolas once more, seated on large rocks and observing Boromir from afar. He was teaching Pippin and Merry how to spar, Faramir realised with a fond smile. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Legolas’ lips part into a dazzling smile before he gave himself a shake and turned his gaze to the horizon.

“Move your feet” Aragorn’s voice floated over the wind.

Gimli and Gandalf were arguing about something nearby but Legolas was clearly ignoring them. Faramir frowned and moved towards the elf, sensing the inner turmoil get steadily more intense as he drew nearer. Was Legolas attracted to Boromir, even now, in the early days?

_How could I ever give my being over to him? Infuriating man!_

Faramir whirled around, seeking the origin of the voice but he found that no one matched the voice. But it had to be Legolas’ thoughts he realised, only he would call Boromir infuriating.

_He would never want a being such as I. A fair maiden is more likely to catch his eye. I have a duty to attend to. I will not fail Aragorn. No more thoughts of Boromir._

It was difficult to see Legolas like this Faramir decided. For as long as he had known the elf, Legolas had always known exactly what to say and what he wanted. He was pretty sure if there was anyone who could talk about purpose in life it would be his elvish friend. But here was Legolas, doubting himself as much as Faramir always had done to himself.

“Crebain from Dunland!” Legolas called, whirling on his heel to face Boromir’s stricken expression.

The Fellowship scattered, leaving Faramir standing in the open to watch as the birds flew overheard with screeching and darkness. He watched as Legolas threw himself underneath the bushes, keeping his sharp eyes pinned to where Boromir was hiding with the two hobbits. Even from his position he could see the concern hanging behind the elf’s eyes.

Valar it was so obvious now.

. . .

_“You gave him the journal?” Legolas asked, quirking a delicate brow at Elessar._

_The King of Gondor shifted in his seat but did not break his staring match with his oldest, dearest friend. “It was not mine to hold onto forever Legolas” he said softly. “You read it yourself; you know full well that Faramir deserves the truth”_

_The elf frowned and dipped his head, golden locks falling in a curtain in front of his face. “Would it not be better to let him pass on at peace? He needs not more turmoil at this hour”_

_Arwen inclined her head. “Any other time I would agree with you” she said. “However this information may at last put his heart to rest”_

_“Or it will incite yet more questions that he is unable to seek answers to” Legolas said. “It is folly”_

_“I did what I thought was right” Elessar sighed, massaging his temples. “By the Valar old friend, it was his brother!”_

 . . .

It was dark and there was the stench of death in the air, heavy and rancid. Faramir couldn’t see through the darkness and was straining his gaze, determined to penetrate the room he had landed in. It was cold; his breath plumed in white clouds but nearby he could hear hushed whispers and muffled gasps. As he walked forward a strange echo bounced off the walls. He was walking on stone, he realised. A cave.

As he rounded the corner he came across two figures huddled in a dark corner. The thinner one was leaning against the heavy set one. Legolas and Boromir he realised belatedly. The elf looked pale and drawn, as though the darkness was drawing the life from his body.

“You do not like the dark?” Boromir asked shortly, breaking the silence.

“I can handle the dark just fine thank you” Legolas responded primly. “Underground is another thing entirely. We have been down here for too long for my tastes”

The man chuckled. “You could have just said you dislike mines”

“But I do not. Mines produce precious metals that are essential for weapons and garments. Ergo we need them thus I find them to be very useful and as such . . .”

“Enough”

The silence fell between them once again and then, out of nowhere, the elf’s knees quaked beneath his body and gave way beneath him. Legolas’ body would have crashed to the floor had Boromir’s arms not shot out in time to catch him. The blonde sagged against the dark man and still, he struggled.

“Easy there, you are weakened” Boromir hushed him, sinking to his knees, still supporting the other body. “Take it easy elf”

“Do not speak the name of my people” Legolas snarled softly. From where Faramir stood he could easily see the sickly pallor on the elf’s features.

_Proud creatures elves are,_ Faramir thought.

“Look at me” Boromir commanded.

Legolas ignored him, gasping for breath and clutching at the stone wall with a white knuckled grip. His weakened state was obviously not agreeing with his mind and he was fighting it with every breath he could. Boromir reached and gripped an arm across the flat plane of Legolas’ chest to grip him tightly to his body.

“Let me go” the elf pleaded. “I am alright, so let me go!”

“Not until you have calmed yourself” Boromir said gruffly. He used his spare hand to grip Legolas’ chin and force him to face his gaze. “Legolas, I implore you. Please calm yourself”

 They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, cerulean blue and dark brown. For a moment Faramir was sure this would be the moment that at least one of them admitted their feelings. He could tell his brother was attracted to the elf, Boromir’s abrasive nature only intensified when he was interested in someone.

Neither spoke and then Legolas took a deep, shuddering breath. Boromir’s grip loosened on Legolas’ body as the elf relaxed.

“Better?” Boromir asked.

“Yes.”

The scene dissolved and Faramir was swept away from his brother and Legolas, confusion and doubt clouding his mind. Neither of them was obviously going to admit their feelings for each other, perhaps Legolas had realised what things truly meant after the fact?

_The story is not over yet, Faramir._

Was that Legolas’ inner voice again? Faramir turned wildly, he could not see anyone else with him and then there was a rushing of wind and he found himself being thrown forward until he was in a clearing he did not recognise. There was a pool of water nearby, glittering in the moonlight and still as stone. Faramir moved forward, peering into the depths of the water but saw nothing. He could not see his own reflection. Odd.

It truly was Legolas’ memories.

Voices became clear once more and Boromir and Legolas rounded the corner, the former leading the latter by the hand. Boromir looked as though he had aged a decade, his shoulders sagged and his eyes were sunken with grief. His brother did not speak a word, simply allowed Legolas to lead him to the edge of the pool and gently push him into a sitting position.

Legolas knelt before Boromir and gently began to remove the man’s armour and, then his shirt and mail. Faramir felt an odd sensation twisting in his gut, was this the moment?

“You were thrown fairly hard against that wall” Legolas murmured softly. His voice was gentle and soothing, like wind on grass. “I am going to make sure you have not cracked any ribs”

Boromir did not speak but allowed Legolas to begin probing about his naked torso. The uncomfortable feeling in Faramir’s stomach grew but he could not drop his gaze away from the pair. Legolas withdrew some salve and began to massage into Boromir’s chest, talking quietly all the while.

“You know it was foolish of you to take on four orcs at once, Gondorian” Legolas hummed. “You are only lucky they did not kill you and use your blood for war paint. Perhaps I should be watching your back more often?”

Nothing fell from Boromir’s lips. Legolas’ movements across his skin grew bolder and he lingered on Boromir’s muscles; pectorals, abdominals and biceps. Slowly the man’s gaze fell to the elf’s and Faramir staggered at the heat radiating from both their eyes.

“Listen to me Boromir” Legolas started. His words drifted off as he studied Boromir intently.

Then, without warning Legolas leaned upwards and pressed his lips against Boromir’s. Faramir finally turned away and all but ran from the entwined pair, harsh breathing following his ears as he went. It had all burst forth, water from a mighty dam that was doomed to overflow eventually.

Faramir’s vision blurred with tears, angry and hot. They spilled over his eyes and tracked their way down his cheeks. He did not brush them away. He felt no shame. Only anger and despair. Boromir had been taken from Legolas too soon. He knew that Legolas had been young by elven standards at the time of their journey and to lose someone as precious to him as Boromir clearly was.

It was hardly just. The Valar’s cruelty – Faramir shook his head as another memory began to dissolve into his gaze. He lifted his chin and felt his jaw drop.

He was standing by a tree and Boromir – oh Boromir. He was lying against its base, taking laboured breaths as he bled from arrow wounds that threatened to end his life. The panicked thudding of Faramir’s heart intensified even as Aragorn and Legolas dashed to the man’s side.

Faramir’s ears were ringing even as Boromir spoke his final words to Aragorn and their future king leaned forward to kiss his brow. Legolas, the graceful elf, was shaking with barely held emotion. Faramir could see his control beginning to crack, splintering into pieces as he watched the man that was almost his lover leave this world.

At the last second before Boromir’s eyes closed he looked over at Legolas and there was peace in those dark eyes. Legolas’ shaking ceased for a moment and he stared, wide eyed and shocked. Boromir moved no more and Faramir felt an awful pain that seared through his breast.

Was this the pain that Legolas had felt as Boromir had died before his eyes, unable to be saved? This pain was torture, the likes of which Faramir had never felt before. He staggered and fell, hitting the dirt with an awful thud. The pain was unbearable; it truly felt like his heart was breaking clean in two.

_Elves can die of a broken heart Faramir,_ the voice echoed in his mind, _this is what it feels like I suppose. Pure torture._

Faramir screamed.

. . .

Elboron had been snoozing lightly in the chair by his father’s bedside when he was jolted awake by a terrible scream. He shot to his feet and hurried forward, smoothing back the damp hair from his father’s brow and murmuring softly in comfort. By the Valar what had the elf done to him?

The fair haired man frowned as Faramir came to and his eyes drifted open, slowly focusing on Elboron as the haze lifted and the screaming subsided.

“Elboron?” Faramir wheezed.

“Aye, Father” he soothed. “It’s alright, it was just a nightmare. You’re safe”

Faramir’s brow creased. “It can’t have been a dream” he said. “Boromir, the Ring . . . I cannot. . .”

“Easy, do not strain yourself. Just lie back and rest a while, I’ll fetch you some water”

Elboron strode away, disappearing into a small supply corner where he took several deep breaths to calm himself. The healer who had been working in the supplies moved to his side and touched a hand to his cheek. Elboron looked down into her eyes and grasped her hand between his own.

“Lothiri” he greeted.

“Your father’s condition is grave my love” she told him. Her light brown curls were pulled tight at the nape of her neck and she held herself with such pride that Elboron could not help but love her more. “They were not nightmares that he saw, but memories”

“What did the elf do?” Elboron asked, a low growl in his voice.

Lothiri paused. “I only saw them for a moment. Legolas, I believe the elf is named, was talking with your father then placed his hand upon his brow. They stayed like this for several minutes and then he left”

The Prince of Ithilien ran a hand through his unruly hair and sighed. “I only wish that Mother was here, she would know how to calm him”

“I know”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may seemed rushed but I assure you these first few chapters are designed to be gotten out of the way so we can delve into the nitty gritty part of the story. I'm sorry to Faramir lovers for all the angst set to come. Please leave a review!


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